


Chased By Dragons

by Seonaid



Series: But Keep Your Enemies Closer [4]
Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Historical, Inspired by Real Events, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seonaid/pseuds/Seonaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco gazed intently at Jingim for a moment, taking note of his red and gold robe under a full length fur robe hanging open, the confident tilt of his face, his tidy hair. He was looking more and more like a Khan in training every day. </p>
<p>(Final Part of "But Keep Your Enemies Closer")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chased By Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> I got fascinated with Mongolian history and used some real life events to finish off this story. Special thanks to my amazing beta Aislinn.

Marco was well enough, after a day, to spend the rest of his convalescence in his own small house. The Prince sent one of his servants to briefly pop in at least once a day to observe Marco's recovery. He did not see Ahmad again, much to his relief. He knew the time would come soon enough when he would have to face the Finance Minister again. The thought made his stomach clench in dread. But for now, he needed to regain his strength. The bruises had mostly healed but Marco was still prone to coughing fits. His lungs had taken a beating in the near drowning at the hands of Ahmad's men. His first day up, he was instructed to visit the Khan in his quarters.

As Marco slowly walked through the palace, he saw that preparations for the Royal Wedding were in full swing. He walked into the Khan's opulent rooms, short of breath after the brief walk from his house beyond the marketplace. Kublai was sitting in his divan setting up his shagai or bone game pieces. Marco approached, knelt down into a deep bow and touched his head to the floor. Kublai grunted his greeting, gesturing for Marco to rise and sit with him. There was a bowl of airag, the fermented mare's milk that Marco was not overly fond of, beside Marco's seat. Marco lowered himself carefully onto the divan facing Kublai and took a sip of his drink.

“So, Latin, you have had an unfortunate adventure I hear.” Kublai continued setting up the game pieces.

“I am a merchant Sire, not much of a warrior.” Marco wondered how much of the made-up story the Prince had told him. “I shall be much more vigilant in the future.”

“Uhuum,” Kublai uttered non-committally.

They played the game silently for a few moments, taking turns scattering the pieces on a cloth, then the Khan narrowed his eyes at Marco.

“What do you think of my son's new wife-to-be? In your own words.” Kublai was referring to the Blue Princess of the Bayaut as she was called. A beautiful, if mysterious, woman brought to the palace by the Khan's army after conquering her family's territory.

“She is very lovely, poised and will make strong children for the Prince,” Marco offered cautiously. The Khan stared at him for a beat, then scattered his game pieces. “That is everything you have observed?”

“I have only seen her the one night of the White Moon, Sire.” Marco tossed his game pieces. Just then, Jingim entered the room.

“Father.” Jingim bowed.

Kublai grunted and gestured to him to come forward. “Jingim! How are the wedding plans coming along?” Kublai grinned widely. “You must be anxious for Kokachin to belong to you.”

Jingim gave him a dark look. “Fine, Father. The women and the servants have everything in hand.” Jingim glanced at the game scattered on the cloth, then at Marco. “It seems you are not letting my father win today, Latin.”

Marco tried to hide his smile while Kublai snorted. “He never lets me win, Son.” Kublai handed a bowl of airag to Jingim and gestured to him to sit beside Marco. Jingim and Marco looked at each other for a beat longer than necessary, then Jingim sat and took a sip of the drink looking up at his father.

Kublai took a loud slurping gulp of the airag and smacking his lips said, “I've been thinking, Jingim. You are getting old, old enough to have a more important position in the Khanate.”

Jingim inhaled slowly through his nose, but said nothing.

“I need a new head of the Zhongshusheng.”

“The Central Secretariat, Father? I would have to leave Cambulac?” Jingim looked alarmed.

“You are a Borjigin. You will go and do as I command.” Kublai growled sternly.

“Yes, Father.” Jingim bowed his head to hide his frown.

“But, no, I am establishing the offices here. You will only have to travel occasionally. Your women will stay here, your slaves, as you wish.” He flicked his eyes towards Marco. “You will start one moon after the wedding. You should be ready to go back to work by then.” The Khan said with a smirk.  
Jingim and Marco glanced at each other again. Marco could feel the heat of Jingim's leg against his. Everyone took a sip of their airag in the awkward silence.

“Uhh, leave me now. I can't concentrate on this game anymore.” The Khan waved his hand in the air dismissively, as Marco and Jingim rose, bowed and slipped out of the room together.

They walked away from the Khan's private quarters, Jingim striding along, Marco huffing to keep up. Jingim stopped abruptly, with Marco bumping into him, and Jingim grabbed his arms to support him.

“You should be resting, Latin. What are you doing gambolling around the palace? I'm taking you home, right now,” Jingim said crossly, and grasped Marco's arm while marching him along.

“I was beckoned by your father, Ji... Prince. I think he was comparing our stories.” Marco, pulled on Jingim's hand to slow their progress down. “By the way, how are the wedding preparations coming along?” Marco deftly changed the subject.

Jingim slowed his pace but kept his eyes forward. “As well as can be expected. Why do you ask?”  
Marco smiled wryly at the Prince's choice of words. “It's not an illness. It's a celebration. After all, you may end up with an heir out of this union.”

The Prince kept silent until they reached Marco's dwelling. Once inside, Jingim steered Marco to his sleeping pallet, and gently pushed him down. “Yes, I need an heir. But we must get through the wedding first, and then there is this business about the Zhongshusheng. If I didn't know better, I'd swear my father is trying to keep me busy and out from under foot.” Jingim sighed and sat on the edge of Marco's bed.

“But, Prince, it is the central governing – a huge responsibility. You will be administering the Yuan Dynasty! It shows he trusts you, Jingim. He believes in you. This is a great honour.” He realized too late how he had addressed the Prince. Jingim didn't seem to notice, however. He turned to Marco, 

“When I travel, you could accompany me. Confucius said, Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart. You are my heart.” Jingim stroked the side of Marco's face and leaned down to kiss him gently on the lips.

Marco murmured against Jingim's mouth, “And you are mine.” Jingim deepened the kiss and moved to push Marco's tunic and trousers off. Marco was more than ready considering the state of his body parts. It seemed such a long time ago, that night on the steppes under the stars. Marco slipped his hands under the Prince's golden deel robe and revelled in the smooth warm skin he found there. As the sun dipped low on the horizon and the shadows in the room lengthened then deepened, they found gentle joy in each other's bodies. Jingim touched Marco as if he were precious porcelain, so easy to break. Marco's passion crowded out all thoughts of aches and pains, though. Soon enough, they lay in each other's arms, heartbeats slowing and skin cooling, as the afternoon stretched into evening.  
“Prince, I will follow you anywhere. I will keep you safe.” Marco mused as he looked at the rough boards of the ceiling, stroking his fingers through Jingim's long thick hair.

“Safe?” Jingim laughed, but without mockery. “Yes, Latin. You and all my fiercest Mongol guards.” He lifted his head to look into Marco's green eyes. “But for now, I'd better get back. Someone is looking for me, no doubt.” Jingim slowly rose and started dressing. Marco lazily watched him, wondering how any man could look so beautiful. Jingim pushed the hair fastenings into his hastily repaired bun and leaned over for one more kiss, slipping his tongue between Marco's lips once again. Marco nearly pulled him back down, but reluctantly let him go.

After the Prince left, Marco lay in the dark and started worrying again. If both he and Jingim were gone from the Palace, that would leave the Khan open to another attack. He didn't know if Ahmad would be so bold as to contrive another attack so soon, but without knowing his motives and desired end-game, Marco was guessing at everything, anyway. He needed to speak to Byamba in confidence without causing him undue alarm. Byamba was a Mongol warrior and would want to thrust a sword through Ahmad's heart when he heard what had happened to Marco. Marco had not even decided whether to tell him or not. But without Byamba's knowledge and insight, he knew that he was helpless against Ahmad in protecting the Khan. Marco had not seen him since his return from Tianjin, as  
Byamba had been sent by the Khan up North on a fact finding mission regarding what Kaidu, the Khan's nephew and ruler of the lands of Chagatai Khanate, might be up to. 

Finally, in the early hours before dawn, Marco dropped off to a restless sleep with dreams of dragons dressed in dark red robes chasing him over the steppe.

The day of the Royal Wedding arrived with dark clouds on the horizon. Marco was sitting outside in the main courtyard drawing his impressions of the colourful sun/moon/fire decorations in his journal. Across the enclosure, he caught sight of Ahmad talking to one of his men. His stomach gave a lurch, and he dropped his piece of charcoal. As he picked it up and was rising, he saw Ahmad's boots coming into view.

“Master Marco. You are looking well. Quite splendid after your ordeal. I hope you are feeling recovered.” Ahmad looked as smooth as always, hair tied back neatly, his clothing opulent and flawless.

“I am quite well, thank you, Minister.” Marco tried and failed to sound casual.

“Very good. I hope we can put all of this unpleasantness in the past. We all have a great future to behold as part of the Yuan Dynasty, even the foreign merchants.” Ahmad stared keenly into Marco's eyes. As Marco searched for any direction to look in besides at Ahmad, he caught sight of Byamba, back for the wedding no doubt.

“Please excuse me Minister,” Marco backed away then turned and quickly headed towards the crowd by the gate. Byamba was leading his horse to the stables and waved when he caught sight of Marco. Just then, a group of people descended on him, taking the reins of his horse and giving hugs and cheek sniffs as was the Mongol tradition. Marco could not get him alone again, so went back to his house to get dressed in his finest for the wedding.

Marco's status had risen slightly and he was not placed right at the back anymore but somewhere in the middle of the crowd. From this vantage point, he could see the offering and serving of the sheep, the blue hada scarves fluttering that symbolized the sky, hear the musicians throat singing and playing the horsehead fiddles. He watched Kokachin ritually offer the milk tea to The Khan and Empress Chabi. The dancers whirled and swooped in bright costumes, the drink flowed to the rhythm of the drums and the night got late as the steady parade of gift giving to the bride and groom continued.

Eventually, as Marco made his way through the crowds, he managed to catch a moment with Byamba, leaning close to embrace and sniff his cheek, and doing so, whispered that he required a private talk. Byamba was well on the way to being drunk and laughed and clapped Marco on the back, “Yes, brother! We will visit! Tomorrow!!” and with that, Byamba was caught up in a group of revellers and pulled away.

Marco avoided making any kind of contact with Ahmad, and finally made his way back to his small house, feeling dizzy with drink and exhaustion. He had not waited to see Jingim carry off his new bride into the inner chambers of the palace. He knew it would be sometime before he saw Jingim again, and wanted to spare himself that small indignity. Marco lay on his humble bed and listening to the revellers still celebrating in the distance and as the storm finally closed in and thunder clashed, the rains pounded down. He fretted about what, if anything to say to Byamba. He knew it would probably be days before he would see the man again. He had his own family to attend to, especially after being away on missions for the Khan. He hoped the answers would come to him as the days went on. 

His thoughts turned to Jingim. Was he making love to Kokachin, would he find her skin more desirable than his? Her hair softly fragranced? Marco knew he was torturing himself senselessly, since the Prince already had three other wives. The Prince had a duty to the Dynasty, he must produce an heir - many sons was preferable. Since none of the current wives had given him sons, he knew that the Prince would continue to be married off to new wives until he had a large number of heirs. It was the Mongol way. Marco tossed and turned in miserable self pity and finally fell asleep as the rain let up and moon was setting in the pre-dawn sky.

It was a week later, Marco was alone one morning practising his horse archery without much success, when he saw Jingim's white mare approaching in the distance. Marco shot one last arrow at the swinging bag of sand hanging from a post and ruefully watched it shoot off into the brush.

Prince Jingim cantered up and stopped his horse close to Marco. “Your aim is improving greatly,” Jingim teased. “I would say you are exactly twice as bad as you were three months ago.” Jingim whirled his horse around and tossed behind him, “Perhaps you are better at racing,” and with that he was off at a gallop.

“Hey!” Marco's yell was lost in the clatter of hoof beats as he urged his horse into a hard gallop in a futile attempt to catch up with Jingim. They raced across the hills of the steppe and down into a hollow beside the stream. At last, Jingim pulled his horse up and jumped off, watching her breathe heavily for a minute before letting her drink in the stream. Marco caught up, and jumped off his horse as well.  
“Prince, how is newly married life treating you?” Marco panted, catching his breath.

“Same as it was the last three times, Latin.” Jingim gave Marco a sardonic look. “But Kokachin is... special, it's true. Eager to please. Healthy. From strong stock.” Jingim took a swig of water from his waterskin.

“You sound like you are describing your favourite horse,” Marco raised his eyebrows.

“I didn't come here to discuss my wives with you, Latin. If you want to do that, we can go back to the palace and have tea.” Jingim dropped the reins of his horse and let her move away.

“Why did we come here, Prince?” Marco asked quietly.

“Because, fool, I miss you,” and with that, Jingim pulled Marco to him and rubbed his nose across Marco's cheek, tangling his hands in Marco's hair.

Marco grabbed Jingim's lips in a kiss, sliding his hands under the Prince's riding tunic. “I miss you, too. How will I be able to stand all this waiting around for you to remember me?”

The grass was soft by the river and they rolled onto it, kissing and pushing at each other's clothing until they were naked. Marco knelt in the grass, Jingim behind him, stiff cock between Marco's legs, arms tight around Marco's chest, face buried in Marco's hair, feeling the sun and the wind on their bodies. Marco wished he could bottle this feeling and take it out whenever he was lonely. He wondered how he could survive with so few of these days, then all thought left him as he succumbed to the passion. As he bent over, hands on the ground, he knew only Jingim's cock moving within him, Jingim's oiled hand on his cock, pulling and urging him to orgasm. The only sound was the slapping of their bodies together, the buzz of insects in the grass, the wind blowing their hair, then Jingim's release with a shout, followed quickly by Marco's spurt into the grass. They lay together, panting and looking at the endless Mongol sky above, fingers entwined, no words needed.

Eventually, Jingim sat up and Marco picked the twigs and grass out of Jingim's hair as he kissed his shoulder and stroked the muscles in Jingim's back.

“Hmm mmm, so good,” Jingim murmured, as he flexed his spine and started to get up. “We cannot linger here, I must get back to the palace.”

They dressed in silence, as was their way after lovemaking, Marco thought there was never words adequate to convey how they felt at these times.

That night, Marco dreamt of a crying child, a newborn, the sound echoing through the empty halls of the palace, the babe swaddled in blue cloth.

The next day Byamba sought out Marco to say goodbye as he was leaving again on a military campaign to South China. Marco ended up not telling him of Ahmad's attack on him. Byamba told him that the piece of leather with the drawing of the Khan's private apartment on it was locked away safely and that there were no new leads as to the origin of the document. The path leading to Ahmad was a dead end, and with no other leads to follow, there was nothing more either of them could do. Marco feared for both their lives if he accused Ahmad of treachery again. He had experienced how far Ahmad's arm reached, and he had no desire to be targeted again. So, as Byamba and his guards rode away, Marco watched one of his only friends leave, with a sinking heart. He felt truly alone now, even though he counted one of the most powerful men in the world as a friend. 

The Khan seemed to be completely taken in by Ahmad, he had given Ahmad total access to the Hall of Fragrance, the private rooms of the palace concubines. Marco believed Ahmad already had several children by a few different women. Ahmad would never divulge his own hand in the treachery against the Khan, and his power and influence over the Khan and Prince Jingim only grew. Marco was always wary and stayed out of his way as much as possible.

Jingim's work at the Secretariat had begun, and he also spent many hours in study of Confucian philosophy with Hundred Eyes. Marco rarely saw him anymore, other than in audiences with the Khan at various functions. The Khan was relying on Jingim more and more to handle affairs of the central state. Kokachin was heavily pregnant and Jingim's face beamed with happiness in unguarded moments.  
One evening a few months after their wild ride across the steppes, Marco was walking alone through the Imperial Gardens, making sketches in his journal of the stark winter outlines. He heard a step behind him and whirled, his heart beating rapidly. It was Jingim, smiling slightly, eyebrows raised in question.

“You look like you've seen the spirit of your ancestor, Latin. Why so jumpy?”

Marco gazed intently at Jingim for a moment, taking note of his red and gold robe under a full length fur robe hanging open, the confident tilt of his face, his tidy hair. He was looking more and more like a Khan in training every day. 

Marco smiled widely and bowed, “Prince. I was lost in thought, you startled me is all. You look well.” Marco's words were neutral but his eyes betrayed the passion he felt.

Jingim moved closer to Marco, ran his fingers through Marco's curls and leaned down to kiss him lightly on the lips. Marco closed his eyes, savouring the feel of Jingim's lips. He leaned in for more, and Jingim took him into his arms firmly and with conviction. The kiss only served to heat them both up, and Jingim whispered into Marco's ear, “Come to me tonight, late, after the moon is high when all is quiet. The women have been busy for weeks preparing for the arrival of the child. None of them are interested in me at the moment.” He kissed Marco's cheek, inhaled his scent and left quickly, disappearing into the shadows of the garden.

As he washed and prepared himself for his visit with the Prince, Marco thought how far Jingim had grown in confidence this past year. The Khan had been wise in giving his son responsibilities of decision making for the dynasty. And now with the imminent birth of a child, which Marco hoped was a boy, Jingim was far less anxious for his father's approval. It made Jingim that much more desirable to, and yet, that much more removed from, Marco. It was a bittersweet feeling.

Much later, Marco slipped past silent, acquiescing guards, and into the darkened bedchamber of the Prince. Jingim lay beneath silk sheets watching Marco's approach. There was one candle only on the side table for light in the room.

Marco stood by the bed for a moment, then slowly began to remove his clothes. The cool air hit his skin and he gladly slid beneath the sheets to move against Jingim's warmth. Without a word, Jingim began to kiss his body all over, gentle nips and bites, licks on Marco's hardening nipples, rubbing teeth gently over the jut of hipbones, nose brushing the hair on Marco's abdomen. Jingim took his time, fingers stroking up Marco's legs, buttocks and back, planting a kiss on the tip of his hardened cock. Marco ran his fingers through Jingim's hair and arched his back a little, moving his cock closer to Jingim's face. Jingim blew at it and snickered softly. Marco groaned in impatience and wiggled his ass. Starting at the tip, Jingim took Marco's cock into his hot mouth slowly sliding his tongue down to the base, then sucking up hard, then doing it again. Marco squirmed and gasp at the intense rush of feeling.

“Stop! I don't want to finish too soon,” Marco panted. Jingim answered by running his tongue under the foreskin, pulling it fully back then licking the drop of liquid at the slit. Marco gasped, “That's not helping...”

“First you want more, then you want less. You are very needy tonight,” Jingim murmured against Marco's tummy, swooping his tongue into the navel then kissing it with a tiny smack.

“I want... I want us to climax together, Prince.” Marco breathed the words.

Jingim sat up between Marco's splayed legs and reached for a small pot of salve on the table beside the bed. With a small glob of the scented salve on his finger, Jingim instructed Marco to turn over onto his stomach. This time, Marco eagerly complied. Propped up on pillows, Marco waited for what he knew was coming - the slick slide of Jingim's finger into his body's most private spot. Marco moaned in pleasure as the Prince expertly found his sensitive spot and massaged it gently. Marco's swollen cock rubbed against the smooth silk of the sheet as he arched his back in time to the movement of Jingim's finger. Jingim added a second then third finger and moved them within him for a moment. 

When Marco could stand it no longer, he groaned, “Now, Jingim, take me now. I can wait no longer.”

“Marco, as you demand,” Jingim whispered while he leaned down, his cock slowly entering Marco's body, driving all the way in to the base, before stopping. He paused a moment while they both breathed through Marco's body adjusting to the fullness. Jingim lay fully along Marco's back, skin to skin, with his mouth on the back of Marco's neck, arms clasped around arms, entwined and joined completely. Jingim started to move and rock and as Marco's desire intensified, they coupled with a fervour unmatched by any previous tryst. The night was filled with their small gasps, moans, expletives, bodies slapping, and at last, grunts of release as both of them chased climaxes, one after the other, to the finish. They were drenched in sweat, Jingim sliding on Marco's slick body as they parted and lay back, breathing heavily, staring at the carved lions on the ceiling.

“They look like dragons,” both of them said simultaneously. They looked at each other and laughed.

After a few moments, Marco looked at Jingim sideways and ask, “Do you want me to leave now?”

“Not yet,” Jingim answered quietly. “I will be travelling to the central region after the child is born. The trip will be several weeks. You will be accompanying me.” Jingim's voice phrased it like a question. 

Marco leaned over to kiss Jingim's lips and murmured, “Gladly, Prince.” 

They kissed lazily like that for a few moments, tasting each other, Marco running his fingers gently over Jingim's face and down his shoulder. They lay back, arms loosely around each other, Marco touching his roughed fingers lightly to Jingim's smoother ones.

Marco rose and pulled Jingim's fur outer-robe over his shoulders that was laying nearby. Jingim smiled at this but said nothing. Marco, watching Jingim's face, walked over to the doorway that looked out on the courtyard gardens. The weather had grown very cold as winter had settled in. Marco leaned against the edge of the door, luxuriating in the feel of his nakedness beneath the fur and mused, “Do you think the child will be a boy?”

Jingim was quiet for a moment, then ventured, “I do. I would love a beautiful daughter but I feel my son is close.”

“What is your greatest wish for him, Prince?”

“That he be strong as iron, that the Gods bless him with long life and happiness, and that he finds power on the throne of the Khans.”

“Those are great wishes for a tiny child yet to be born.” Marco walked back to the bed and curled up beside Jingim, still wearing the fur robe.

Jingim snuggled closer to Marco, voice muffled by the fur, “And what would you wish for my son?”

“That you give him a great name, one that he will strive to live up to.” Marco said briskly.

Jingim sat up and looked at Marco. “What name would you give him?”

“Temür. Blessed Iron Khan.” Marco smiled.

Three weeks later in the main hall of the Khan, the entire court assembled. Kublai, in all his opulent glory sat back in his lion covered throne, smiling widely, his beautiful Empress Chabi at his side. In front of him stood Prince Jingim, dressed splendidly in reds and golds, holding a tiny swaddled bundle in his arms. He bowed low while at the same time holding the babe up high in front of him.

“May I present to you, Khan of Khans, Emperor of the World, my son and heir, Temür Borjigin of the Yuan Dynasty.”


End file.
